Stained Crimson
by Qwerky Qity
Summary: Senior Auror Harry Potter is supposed to investigate the deaths of Draco and Astoria Malfoy. Not to become hopelessly entangled with his late schoolyard nemesis' sister-in-law, especially when he is already a married man. Harry/Ginny. Harry/Daphne.
1. The Death of Draco Malfoy

**Title: **Stained Crimson

**Author: **Qwerky Qity

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter One: **The Death of Draco Malfoy

* * *

"Who in the name of Merlin's most baggy Y Fronts decided to invite _me_ to Draco Malfoy's funeral?"

I stared uncomprehendingly at the embossed card Andromeda had just handed me, which was a rather difficult task this morning. Little James was doing everything he could to snatch Daddy's glasses away from him in revenge for the toast I tried to feed him. Normally, Ginny helped with this, but she was having breakfast in bed today. The new baby was being even more a little marauder than James, and had kept her—and me—up all night.

I could feel a silly little grin rising at the thought. It quickly vanished when I looked at the invitation card again.

Ron had popped in with Hermione for breakfast and was helping himself liberally to the eggs. "Are you sure that isn't just a joke from Fr—from George?"

The slight slip made everyone uncomfortable for a moment before Andromeda spoke up again.

"Cissy asked me to give it to you. She didn't want to send it out with the others because she was afraid her husband might try to prevent you from attending if he knew about this, but she wants to you to come. I know I should have told you sooner, but Cissy only Flooed me an hour ago. You will come, won't you?"

I hesitated.

Ron groaned. "You can't expect that of Harry. Why would Malfoy's mother want Harry at her son's funeral anyway? Didn't Harry and Malfoy hate each other? Hermione, tell Harry's that it's ridiculous he's even considering going."

"Even if it is ridiculous, Ron, it's not for the reasons you said," said Hermione as she carried a couple plates of bacon over to the table. It thumped, one of the legs being slightly shorter than the others. "There might be some former Death Eaters or their ilk in the attendees, and who knows what could happen. I think that at the last Malfoy funeral, eight people died in the crossfire of three separate duels."

"That is correct." Andromeda affirmed Hermione's statement, if reluctantly. "But the Minister and several Aurors will be present as well this time. It's highly unlikely that anything will break out, and if you're truly worried, Harry could wear a glamour."

Hermione frowned, and was about to say something when Ron beat her to it. "Glamours are difficult to remove when they're applied correctly, but they're also dangerous; they feed off of the wearer's excess magic, usually, but when they are in place long enough they can cause serious damage to the wearer's magical strength. If Hermione's right, and someone does start a fight, I want Harry to be at full strength."

"Merlin, mate, when'd you get so smart? You're going to give Hermione a run for her money!" I thumped Ron on the back teasingly. He rolled his eyes back at me.

"Not yet, Harry," Hermione said in a falsely serious tone as she sat in front of us. "He forgot to mention that they can be used to hide disfigurations, wounds, and natural hideousness. Or that glamours cause both short-term physical defects, such as skin discoloration, wrinkles, and blemishes, as well as long-term defects such as quickened aging and even death, when they are applied long enough."

"Can you go then, Harry?" Andromeda asked, ignoring our conversation on glamours. She looked rather stiff right now, but that was probably because Hermione was here. Andromeda might be no blood purist, but she still disliked Hermione on a personal level—something about respect for one's elders and knowing when to stop.

I shrugged. "I'll have to firecall Robards and persuade Ginny first though."

"Do you know how Malfoy died?" Hermione asked. "I don't remember hearing about it."

"You wouldn't. Poor Cissy found Draco and his wife Astoria both dead in their bedroom just yesterday. Two Killing Curses, the Aurors said, one from each wand. It was ruled a double suicide. Horribly, tragic, especially for Cissy. You see, Astoria miscarried just last week."

* * *

Before Apparating to Malfoy Manor, Andromeda had insisted that I change into a set of formal mourning robes that had once belonged to Phineas Nigellus. Though most funerals did not call for special robes nowadays, the Malfoys had always been very traditional. Andromeda's own robes that fell well past her ankles and trailed for another foot on the ground, and were accompanied by a pair of black gloves that stretched to her elbows and a large onyx mourning brooch that had been part of her mother's dowry. When I had asked her if she was wearing too much, she had sniffed and told me that it was highly inappropriate to show skin at such a grave occasion.

It certainly looked like a grave occasion. The entire manor was draped in black crepe, and there must have been magic done, because the grass was a dark black-green and sunlight was had been filtered through a dreary grey lens. Even the albino peacocks were charmed black, and they made eerie keening sounds as they moved around the guests.

I found himself wishing for the company of someone I knew other than Andromeda. She might be Tonks' mother and Teddy's grandmother, but she was also Narcissa and Bellatrix's sister, and there times that I felt awkward and strange around her alone. We usually had Teddy as a buffer, but Teddy couldn't come this time because children under ten were not traditionally allowed at magical funerals. He attended the private family service that morning.

At the entrance to the back grounds where Malfoy and his wife were to be interred, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were receiving the funeral guests. Grief was written plainly on Narcissa's face—a great contrast to the stiff-necked woman at the Quidditch World Cup all those years ago, or even the desperate mother on the night I defeated Voldemort. She looked dazedly at everyone as if she didn't recognize them, and her skin was doubly pale against the black mourning clothes she wore. Lucius, on the other hand, stood ramrod straight, almost glaring at well-wishers.

I could see Andromeda frown as she saw Lucius. Though Andromeda had happily reunited with her sister, she still believed that her brother-in-law deserved to be put back in Azkaban. I heartily agreed with this opinion, but the magical world after the war hadn't as much as I hoped. Even with Hermione and Kingsley pushing through new legislation every day, purebloods still escaped punishment on a regular basis. The system was so entrenched that little could be done to alter it.

When we reached the front, Narcissa practically fell into her sister's arms weeping. I heard a couple of quiet words exchanged between the women while Lucius tried to ignore my presence, though his nostrils had flared angrily when he saw the Boy-Who-Lived walk up. Narcissa didn't seem ready to let go anytime soon, so when Andromeda met my eyes and gave me a nod, I quickly slipped past my hosts and into the burial grounds.

The ceremony was to be conducted outdoors, so someone—probably the house-elves—had set up several rows of chairs, in circles, around the center. Like the rest of the scenery, the chairs were covered with black fabric. Several guests were already sitting, while others mingled in low voices behind the rows of chairs. Everyone avoided the center, where stood two biers covered with white sheets: Malfoy and his wife. Andromeda had mentioned that her name was Astoria Greengrass.

On one of the biers, I could see the platinum blonde hair of the Malfoy family. But it had an odd red tint, as if it had been regularly washed with rust. That was odd. I was about to take a closer look when I felt a something crash into my side.

"Watch where you're going!"

I had bumped into a young woman who was scowling—prettily, murmured some part of my brain that I immediately told to shut up—at me as she pulled herself off the ground, ignoring my apologies. I could hear a couple of titters nearby, and looked down embarrassedly.

Bad decision. I felt my face grow warm.

The young woman was wearing dress robes that revealed an indecent amount of skin, especially since we were at a funeral. Her fall had hiked up the already short robes so that her—admittedly shapely—legs were shown up to mid-thigh. If Andromeda was here, she would certainly be up in arms about it. And though her robes were dark grey, they were fancy and had little owls embroidered on them, unlike the respectably plain cuts of most mourning robes I saw here. But at least it showed off her figure well. Most of the other girls I saw so far looked like lumps of coal.

Then I realized what I had been thinking about, and berated myself silently.

"Sorry," I said again.

She looked at me closely, and her eyebrows rose slightly. "Harry Potter? Why are you here? I thought you and Draco were enemies."

Her response was rather rude, but I supposed that I didn't deserve much else. "Narcissa invited me."

"Lady Malfoy invited you?" She rolled her eyes. "Should have known. That sounds like something she would do."

From her tone, I interpreted that she did not have a very high opinion of Narcissa. That made a me a little curious as to why she was here, but I could hardly ask that.

"Um, have we met?"

"A few times, but you wouldn't remember. We were in the same year at Hogwarts." She smiled. I had the odd feeling of a cornered rabbit. "The name's Daphne Greengrass."

Her surname was vaguely familiar. "So Malfoy's wife…"

"Was my sister, yes."

Well, that was awkward. At least it explained why she didn't like Narcissa Malfoy and was still present. Though I got on pretty well with the Weasleys, I only had to attend dinner at the Grangers once with Ron to know what most in-law relationships were like. But Greengrass was looking at me, so I had to say something.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." One corner of Greengrass' mouth twisted up. "We weren't that close, at any rate. I'd mourn more for Draco than for her." She glanced at me with something unreadable in her large blue eyes, as wide and innocent as a child's. Now where did that thought come from? "You look disturbed by that. Did you think that we all had happy, loving families like the Weasleys?"

Unsure of what to say to her question, I kept my silence. Luckily, Greengrass didn't seem to expect an answer anyway, because she continued talking. "But even if we weren't close, I don't know why Astoria would want to die. She's such a cheerful little thing normally—that one of the reasons we didn't always get along—and, well, miscarriages are common enough on both sides of the family. Mother had three after birthing Astoria and one before, and Lady Malfoy had to have been pregnant half a dozen times before she finally had Draco. But I suppose that some people are just like that. Can't look beyond one tragedy."

"I guess." Was this proper conversation about a dead sibling?

"With my luck, she'll come back as a ghost to haunt me. Then I'll never have another day's rest and have to appeal to the Ministry to get some to exorcise her. Say, Potter, can you exorcise spirits? I remember you did something like that to the Dark Lord."

We were getting on dangerous territory here, and I never liked to talk about Voldemort. "Um, that wasn't exactly the same thing."

"Really? Or are you just unwilling to tell me?" Greengrass leaned forward and placed a gloved hand on my arm. She smiled wickedly at my reaction. "Don't be shy, Potter. Isn't your mission in life to help the damsel in distress?"

I was about to tell this woman that I was married and then get as far away from her as I could when Andromeda reappeared. Her lips thinned noticeably as she saw Greengrass, and she gave a curt nod, the kind of nod I had learned meant that she highly disapproved of the nod's recipient.

"Hello Andromeda." Greengrass had shrunk back.

Andromeda, ignoring her, slipped a hand into the crook of my arm. "Let's find a seat before they're all taken."

It sounded like a weak excuse to me, since the seats were all allotted out beforehand, but Andromeda evidently wanted to get me away from Greengrass because she dragged me away with such a firm grip that I couldn't even say a proper goodbye. Not that I really wanted to, but it was polite, and wasn't pureblood society all about politeness?

The moment we were out of earshot, Andromeda rounded on me. "What were you doing?"

"I was just talking!" I said defensively. "I bumped in her accidentally—"

"There is no such thing as an accident when it comes to Daphne Greengrass," Andromeda said shortly. "Stay away from her."

"Why?"

Andromeda pursed her lips. "Originally, the Malfoy-Greengrass marriage contract was between her and Draco. I don't know what, but Cissy found something about girl that just wasn't right, and had the contract altered, even though that would force the marriage to be postponed two years and cost fifty thousand Galleons. She didn't even want that girl here today at the funeral of her own sister. And I've heard some things about her..."

Before Andromeda could say exactly what horrible things she had heard about Greengrass, a familiar deep voice called out my name. "Harry."

We turned around. It was Kingsley. He gave a nod of greeting to Andromeda. "How are you today?"

Andromeda remained silent, so I was forced to answer. "Fine, sir. And you?"

"I'm alright, personally. But someone dropped an anonymous message that there's going to be trouble here, which is why I'm here with them." Kingsley gave a meaningful look toward the nondescript men loitering nearest to the biers. "I just wanted to make sure that you're aware as well, just in case something does happen. Got your wand?"

"Yes, sir." I lowered my voice. "Has anything happened?"

"Not yet." Kingsley gave a forced laugh. "I would prefer to keep it that way."

It was a subtle reminder to me to not cause any trouble. I bristled slightly at the implication.

Kingsley didn't notice. "I'm surprised that you're here, though. Never thought I'd be guarding Draco Malfoy's funeral, much less that the Boy-Who-Lived would be attending it with me."

Andromeda stiffened. People often thought that she didn't care much about the Malfoys because she had married a Muggleborn and her daughter and son-in-law fought for the Order of the Phoenix, but she was surprisingly attached to her sister and nephew. You could insult Lucius as much as you wanted in front of Andromeda, but not Narcissa or Draco.

"I agree, sir. It is quite surprising." People were already beginning to file into their seats. I saw my chance to leave before Kingsley said something that really made Andromeda mad. "I think the ceremony starting."

Since Andromeda was considered immediate family (and, for some bizarre reason, so was I) we were sitting in circle that was closest to the biers. Across from us were Lucius and Narcissa, the latter dabbing at her eyes with a black handkerchief. It was a strange sight. For some reason, I didn't think purebloods used such things.

Greengrass was three seats to my right. She gave a little wave as she caught my eye. I quickly averted my gaze.

After everyone was seated and a respectful silence had fallen, an elderly man in black robes stood up and walked to the center to stand on the raised podium between the biers. He raised his hands and muttered some strange words. Sparks began to fly around him.

The bier that held Malfoy's corpse floated a couple inches up.

"A Malfoy tradition," Andromeda whispered to me before I could ask. Her lips barely moved, but I suppose that she must have gotten a lot of practice doing this when she was younger. Pureblooded girls were expected to be seen and not heard before they married. "I remember the same thing happened at old Abraxas' funeral. They're going to cremate him."

Then the man pulled down the sheets to show Malfoy's entire body, which was also clothed in white. I was struck by how old Malfoy looked. Or perhaps that was what death did to people, I remember that Colin Creevey had looked like that too. But Malfoy was worse. His eyes were sunken deep into his skull, highlighting the sharp bones. His entire head seemed to have shrunk a couple of circles and all of his veins could be seen. His skin was yellow and waxy, but his cheeks were unnaturally pink.

Narcissa gave a loud, wrenching sob.

The elderly man laid his hands on Malfoy's chest, and bowed his head. When he raised his hands again, white flames sprung up from the area where Malfoy's heart must have been. Gradually, the flames grew and spread until they engulfed Malfoy's entire body. The bier, though, was unaffected as it slowly sank into the ground, leaving a rectangular section of flaming licking the ground. Then the flames faded, leaving behind a trail of ashes.

The entire process hadn't taken more than five minutes.

The elderly man summoned the ashes and formed a ball between his raised hands. Slowly, he lowered his hands. The ashes penetrated the surface of the bier, disappearing into the ground. Instantly, the bier began to reform, growing taller and thinner, until there was a tombstone on top of the place Malfoy's ashes lay. Then, the elderly man drew his wand and traced several lines of Latin. I couldn't read what he had written, but Andromeda told me it was just the Malfoy family motto.

Across from me, Narcissa was shaking. Lucius patted her hand awkwardly, and I was suddenly struck by the thought that Draco Malfoy, my childhood archenemy, the boy who had almost killed Dumbledore, was gone. Permanently. And I felt nothing for it. No sorrow, certainly, but no joy either. He was just someone else who had died.

The only thing that troubled me was that he had looked so old, so strange. Like he was made of wax, except the wrong color.

Something about that thought seemed to ring a bell. The conversation from that morning echoed in my head. Something Hermione said…

_Glamours cause as skin discoloration, wrinkles, and blemishes, as well as quickened aging and even death, when they are applied long enough._

I frowned. Hermione was likely correct in her statement, but who would want to glamour the Malfoys to death? And it was highly unlikely they had glamoured themselves for the length of time that would be required to cause death. Besides, the Aurors had ruled it a suicide. Surely they couldn't be that wrong. If they had been glamoured, the Aurors would have found the charms.

_Glamours are difficult to remove when they're applied correctly._

The elderly man was holding his hands over Astoria now. As with her husband, the white sheet had been removed, and though I did not ever remember seeing her face alive, there were definitely signs of premature aging. Her skin was waxy and worn. I even thought I could see tiny wrinkles at the edges of her mouth.

Maybe I was putting too much into thought into this. Maybe dead people just looked like that. I thought back to the succession of funerals I had attended just after the battle. Dead people had a tendency to look, well, dead. But there was that feeling that something was horribly wrong this time.

_They can be used to hide disfigurations, wounds, and natural hideousness._

Natural hideousness was out. After all, Malfoy wasn't exactly ugly, and if Astoria had looked anything like her sister, she wouldn't have needed to worry about her looks either. Neither of them was disfigured, according to last count anyway, and he couldn't remember any reason Draco Malfoy would need to hide himself in public. The Malfoys had a house-elf run all the errands, didn't they?

That left wounds. My blood turned to ice. If there truly had been glamours on Malfoy and Astoria, wounds were the only explanation that would truly make sense. The glamours would hold, draining the leftover magic of the bodies, for several hours. After that, they would disappear, but by then, Malfoy and Astoria would be buried. And the only reason someone would want to hide a wound was—

"Are you feeling alright?" Andromeda' voice was barely above a whisper, but hand felt like a vice. For such an old woman, she had a terribly strong grip. "It's almost done, Harry. He just needs to finish creating Astoria now."

I realized with horror that Andromeda was right. Once Astoria was burned and buried, there wouldn't ever be enough evidence to prove that she and her husband did not commit suicide, at least, enough evidence to warrant an investigation.

_I don't know why Astoria would want to die._

If they truly had been murdered, then the killer was probably depending on this to conceal the crime.

Maybe it was just an insane theory that resulted from my lack of sleep, but I had to make sure.

Wrenching my arm from Andromeda's grasp, I ran up to Astoria's body amid a flurry of shocked whispers and outraged shouts. The elderly man conducting the service was so surprised he fell over. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Greengrass stand up, white-faced. Across from me, Lucius' face had transformed into a mask of anger, and he was going for his wand. Behind me, I could hear Kingsley saying something as a couple of people I vaguely recognized as Aurors began moving toward me. But everything else seemed to vanish as I neared the body.

Close up, I could see that the roots of Astoria's hair were pink, just like Malfoy's. Her folded hands were like those of women twenty years older than her. Ignoring the loud protests, I seized the collar of Astoria's white robes and violently ripped the cloth into two.

The naked corpse rolled over, revealing to the world three long, blackening gashes across the place that had once held a baby.


	2. Mother, Maiden, and Crone

**Title:** Stained Crimson

**Author: **Qwerky Qity

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter Two: **Mother, Maiden, and Crone

* * *

The elderly man was wringing his hands and muttering about the desecration of the body and the impudence of youngsters these days when I suddenly felt my arms pulled behind my back as I was dragged away from the bier forcibly. The Aurors had caught up.

Narcissa had also pushed her way to the front of the gathering crowd and was now keening over Astoria's corpse, refusing to let anyone examine it. A couple of Aurors were trying to coax her away; I could see Lisa Turpin among them. Lovely girl, Lisa, but not exactly the type I would have in a situation like this. As a half-blood, Lisa had watched too many family and friends (on the Muggle side, couldn't kill purebloods, after all) murdered in front of her in the war, so she wasn't the most sympathetic to the relatives of dead Death Eaters.

In fact, it was a little strange that she was here, since Lisa made no secret that her opinion.

"You can't do this!" Narcissa was screaming. "You can't do this to her, not when's she's dead, and Draco's dead—"

Her last statement seemed to shock her back into a daze. Lucius hurried forward to drag his wife off of Astoria, who was hastily covered again with the sheet. Someone in the crowd muttered something about Greengrass women that drew a cacophony of catcalls and hoots.

Kingsley gestured at the Aurors holding me. "Take him to the holding cells."

"It was not a double suicide," I said levelly, looking straight at Kingsley. Once I would have been furious demanded why Kingsley was holding me down and not looking for the killer. But this was a private funeral, and Kingsley was the Minister. And I supposed that I'd want to press charges too if someone decided to humiliate my dead daughter-in-law like that. That didn't mean I liked it though. I raised my voice so that the entire assemblage could hear. "Draco and Astoria Malfoy were murdered."

The crowd grew louder. All around me, I could hear everything from claims that I was delusional and deserved to be sent to Azkaban to questions if I was conspiring against the Malfoys to whispers that perhaps I was right and they really were murdered. I even saw a couple flashes of a camera. This was certain to be on the _Evening Prophet_. Maybe it would even make headlines tomorrow. That'd make a lot of trouble for Kingsley, but I couldn't find it in myself to care.

Kingsley's face looked as if set in stone as the Aurors Disapparated with me.

* * *

The holding cells on the bottommost levels of the Ministry of Magic weren't created to hold two people, much less three, and the magic that prevented jailbreaks were incompatible with expanding charms (The Ministry said it was 'working' on it. Yeah right). So while there was not official rule stating that only one visitor could be received at a time, the guards generally didn't let more than two people be in a cell at time. Even though the Aurors had put me on the level for less serious offenders, where the guards tended to be nicer and security lighter than on lower levels, the holding cells were still tiny little rooms barely the size of a decent bathtub.

Not that I would have too many visitors anyway. I only hoped that someone—likely Hermione—would have the good sense to persuade Ginny to stay at home. The last time she came to my cell, the guards nearly had to drag her away. Besides, in Ginny's current condition, seeing me here would only upset her.

My first visitor was, naturally, Hermione. The young guard who led her here was clearly intimidated by a highly angered version of the infamous Hermione Granger, because he quickly closed the door and scuttled away.

If I wouldn't have gotten charged with breakout, I would have likely done the same.

"Harry James Potter, what is the meaning of this?"

I winced. Arms crossed and hair frizzing with the strength of her ire, Hermione looked just like a taller, brown-haired version of Mrs. Weasley. Maybe there was truth to the saying that every man married a woman like his mother.

Seeing me wince, Hermione sighed, and her arms fell down at her sides. "I can't get you out of this one."

"What?" Hermione always got me out of the holding cell. She was one of the best solicitors. Every once in a while, trouble found me, and my relationship with Kingsley wasn't as good as it used to be. Moreover, there were plenty of purebloods who would gladly see me detained, even if only temporarily. "I need to go home. I can't leave Ginny and James alone!"

"You should have thought about that before, then. Harry, it's not that I don't want to see you get out. But you really shouldn't have done what you did. The Greengrasses are a politically powerful family, and while the Malfoys might have been tainted after Voldemort, they still have a lot of money and influence with certain authorities." Her lips curled at this. Hermione didn't like these authorities any more than I did, but I knew that this time she was particularly exasperated that I did not consider the political and social implications of my actions. "And the purebloods in general are very upset with what you did. They're saying that you purposefully disrupted the funeral and that you are trying to sow discord and anarchy. Even your status as Lord Potter-Black isn't doing much to help."

"I had to! If I had let that man cremate her no one would ever realize that they were murdered!"

"I _know_. But that doesn't change the facts." Hermione massaged her temples as she sat down on the miserable little cot. I felt a twinge of guilt as I remembered that Hermione was pregnant too. Ron had happily announced it at the family dinner last week. "I don't want to promise anything, but you might be able to just get off with a fine. I talked to Andromeda before I came here, and she said that the Malfoys weren't too angry at you. Narcissa was just hysterical at the thought that someone murdered her son. So maybe they won't press charges. And it looks bad for the Ministry to have a Senior Auror who's also Harry Potter in holding cells for long."

She sounded so hopeful, but I felt a twinge of discomfort if Hermione was depending on _that_ to get me out. The last time, they had kept me here for a week past the time she expected them to release me. I had a feeling that the Ministry was growing less and less patient with me.

"What about the Greengrasses?"

Hermione shrugged. "A lot depends on how they would view the situation, but I expect they won't do anything. From what I've heard, old Menelaus Greengrass prefers to focus on his own career and is generally content to leave his daughters alone." In other words, he didn't give two hoots about what happened. Many pureblooded families were like this, but Hermione didn't want to say anything in here that could potentially be incriminating against me. "Besides, Astoria married Draco Malfoy, so she's technically their responsibility now. Greengrass can use his influence to affect the case though, which is why he could still be significant."

I sighed. "So now what?"

"You'll just have to stay here," said Hermione. "Don't worry about Ginny. Ron and I will sleep over at your place tonight to keep an eye on James. He likes treacle tart, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks for doing that. Did Ron come with you?"

Hermione shook her head, a trace of a smile on her face. "I left him at home. He's so mad that you got yourself arrested at Malfoy's funeral, I was afraid he'd cause a scene. When I left, he was swearing up and down that Malfoy only died so that you could be arrested."

I laughed. "That sounds about right."

Hermione stood to leave, but then seemed to remember something. She opened her enchanted handbag and dug out something. My wand. "Kingsley told me to give this to you."

I relaxed a bit as I felt the familiar grip of holly wood. "Isn't it a breach of the rules?"

"He thought that you should keep it just in case something happens." With one hand on the doorknob, Hermione turned to smile at me resignedly. "You _are_ Harry Potter, after all."

I grinned back.

* * *

My second visitor was completely unexpected. She came about twenty minutes after Hermione left, and I thought at first that Hermione had come back. That was before I distinctly heard the sharp clicking of high heels. Hermione never wore high heels—too inconvenient.

"Hello, Potter."

"Greengrass." I couldn't keep my surprise out of my voice. "Why are you here?"

Her gaze swept distastefully over the spot Hermione had just vacated, then fixed on me again. I noticed that she had already changed out of the grey robes I saw at the funeral. She was now wearing a low-cut purple Muggle dress. At least the skirt didn't fall above her knees, so it wasn't totally inappropriate for visiting prisoners. I might not be the most knowledgeable person on this, but I didn't think that witches and wizards tended to begin wearing things like the dress Greengrass had on right after discovering that their younger sister had been murdered.

"I wanted to see you, of course." Greengrass smiled thinly. "Can I call you Harry, Harry?"

"You just did," I said dryly. "Now tell me why you're here, Greengrass."

Greengrass laughed, and kicked off her high heels. She carelessly, if elegantly, seated herself next to me on the cot. "Call me Daphne."

"Fine. Why are you here, _Daphne_?"

"I already answered that. Now you must answer me a question. Why would you rip off the clothes off a corpse?"

"I thought you would be able to figure that out."

"_Harry_." She scooted closer to me. "Can't you just tell me?"

"I'm an Auror," I said as I subtly moved my hand closer to my wand. "We notice things."

"None of the others did."

"They're not as good as me, then." I couldn't help but flash a cheeky grin at her. "And could you please move a little farther away? I'm married, you know."

Daphne's smile dropped. She leveled her wand at me. I hadn't even seen her pull it out. Quick reflexes. I noted it mentally. "I'm not joking, Potter. What made you think that Astoria was murdered?"

The sweet approach failed, and the mean one was on. So she really wanted to know. That sounded a little suspicious to me, but it wasn't as if I could ignore the wand pointed straight at me. My hand itched to draw out my own wand, but it was stopped by two things: one, the holding cell was extremely cramped, and two, I was in enough trouble as is. I didn't want to be kept in custody for a long time, not with Ginny and James still at home.

"The glamours," I finally admitted.

"Glamours?"

"How else do you think someone hid those three gashes? I'll bet good money that the same thing happened with Malfoy."

Daphne winced, and I immediately felt bad. After all, it was her sister who had died.

"How did you recognize that there were glamours? And don't tell that it's because you're better than the others."

"It was actually something you said."

"Something I said?" Daphne frowned.

"About how your sister wouldn't have wanted die. And I was talking about glamours with friends the morning of the funeral. One of them mentioned that there were certain side-effects, and I saw those same effects on both of them. I only put the pieces together right before Astoria's cremation though."

She nodded slowly. "That sounds quite…coincidental, Potter. Too coincidental, almost. Are you sure that's exactly what happened?"

For the first time in the entire afternoon, true anger exploded in me. I had been arrested, forcibly separated from my wife and son, and was likely to face a trial for unmasking a suicide as murder. And now this arrogant woman in front of me was accusing me of fabricating evidence. Before I knew it, my wand was out.

Daphne might have good reflexes, but I had experience and surprise on my side. Within moments, she had silently been disarmed, stunned, and bound.

"_Ennervate_."

Her eyes opened. "Well, well, well, the little lion has claws after all."

I ignored her jibe. "You think I made up those gashes?"

"Did you?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Certain…individuals would have an interest in doing so." Daphne smiled the same twisted same she had when she told me she didn't mourn her sister. "They want to see us divided. What better way than for us to suspect each other of murder?"

"Each other?"

"The Malfoy family has many enemies," Daphne explained. "As do mine. After you defeated the Dark Lord, many ancient families were in a precarious position, partly because of dead family heads, partly because of uncertain alliances. I expect that you've heard from Granger about the turmoil on the Wizengamot."

I nodded.

"It was caused by the loss of a balance between opposing factions. My family and the Malfoys happen to have similar interests in a number of situations; it's why Daddy arranged the marriage contract with the Malfoys all those years ago. They've been assembling their faction for years, trying to keep enough families together to remain a power in the Wizengamot. I expect that someone thought that they could break our alliance if it came out that Draco and Astoria were murdered, or at least scare people into leaving it."

I frowned. "Political reasons?"

"Why not? Just because you've never cared about politics doesn't mean that no one else has." Daphne wriggled a little in her ropes. "Can't you loosen these a little?"

"No. You'll escape."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Why Harry, I'm beginning to suspect that you like seeing me tied up."

You just couldn't win with this girl, could you? I flicked my wand. "Who are you thinking of, then?'

"I don't have any evidence," Daphne said slowly. "So I don't want to accuse anyone in particularly. But you might want to look at the leaders of the Wizengamot factions when you get out of here."

"You said 'when.' Not 'if.'"

Daphne snorted. "Do you honestly think the Ministry is going to keep its golden boy in the holding cells for long?"

I mulled over what she said, then Vanished the ropes and handed her wand back to her. "You can leave now."

"Harry Potter, savior of fair maidens everywhere," Daphne said sarcastically, rubbing her wrists. "How can a girl do anything but fall in love with you?'

I rolled my eyes. Daphne might have struck me as strange at first, and there were certainly times where talking to her was very awkward, but overall, she didn't seem like the kind of girl Andromeda thought she was.

Who knows, maybe I'll even make a new friend out of this business.

* * *

"Someone here to see you again, Potter," the young guard shouted.

I had nearly fallen asleep when the door banged open for the third time hours after Daphne left. Instinctively, I reached for my wand.

It was Andromeda.

I sat up at once, shoving my glasses back on. "Hi, Andromeda."

She inclined her head stiffly. I could see that she was upset, probably because of the scene at the funeral. "I'm sorry about—"

"You don't need to apologize for that," she cut across me swiftly.

There was slightly awkward silence for a moment. Again, I wished that she had brought Teddy, but at the same time, I was glad she hadn't. It wouldn't be the best experience for him, to see his godfather as a criminal. Even if I'm technically innocent. "How's Narcissa?"

It was evidently the right question to ask, because Andromeda relaxed as she responded. "Cissy's a little upset over today's events. And obviously, she's distraught at the new revelation. But she doesn't blame you for it, so I expect that you'll be out of here soon. Lucius isn't likely to press the case if Cissy convinces him not to."

"Did the Aurors discover anything else?"

"They have declared Astoria's death to be a murder, but other than that, no. I expect that they'll declare Draco's death a murder as well soon enough, though." Andromeda sighed. "It's really hard on Cissy. She blames herself for everything, and you know Draco meant the world to her. She had been so happy when the Healers said that Astoria was pregnant, and then she lost her child and her hopes of a grandchild, almost in one swoop."

Andromeda's words made me a little nervous too, as they made me think again of home. Ginny and James were with Ron and Hermione, but it was still worrying. Ginny liked hot chocolate before bed now, and often had the oddest cravings in the middle of the night, and not just for food either. There had been one time last week when she had woken up and demanded that we go to the Caribbean beach. James often refused to sleep until you sung him a lullaby and then topped it off with a story. Ron and Hermione didn't know that. And more importantly, even though the house was as well-warded as money could buy, I was still afraid that someone would force their way through.

It had happened once, just months after the Death Eater trials. A group of four had somehow broken down the wards. Luckily, Ginny had gone out with Hermione that night, and the Weasleys were at the Burrow or at their respective homes. I was there with Neville, who had joined me in Auror training (Ron had dropped out to keep George company in the joke shop business), and we often visited each other after the day's work was done.

We had been talking over bottles of butterbeer when they had snuck up. Fortunately for us, one of the group was impulsive and had let out a spell before he was supposed to. Badly aimed, it had cracked the leg of the kitchen table and alerted Neville and I to the intruders. Then, we had traded curses until they had decided to retreat. Neither Neville nor I were seriously injured, but Neville reckoned that he had hit one of them with a Bone-Breaking Curse in the knee. After that, I had immediately upgraded the wards, though I hadn't the heart to throw out the kitchen table. It had been one of the few things I recovered from my parents' house in Godric' Hollow.

Still, the Ministry had never caught my attackers, and I always feared that somehow, one or more of the group would find another way to break in again.

Shaking these thoughts out of my head, I turned back to Andromeda. "Tell her I'm sorry about that. Did Narcissa say anything about who could have done it?"

"She thought it could be vigilantes."

Several groups, such as my own attackers, had appeared out of the blue after Voldemort's fall. Some were dedicated to avenging fallen or imprisoned family or friends and usually targeted high-profile families who had fought against Voldemort or Muggleborns. Others wanted retribution against Voldemort's Death Eaters and their allies that the law didn't or couldn't give. The Malfoys' connection to Voldemort had been fairly public due to the trials, so Narcissa's theory wasn't entirely implausible. But vigilantes would have been proud to have killed two Malfoys. They wouldn't have masked it as a suicide.

I hesitated. I wanted to tell her of Daphne's suspicions, but Andromeda had seemed to disapprove of Daphne very deeply, and I wasn't sure if I should mention that she had come to see me in my cell. "Did you think the murders could have been done to unbalance the situation in the Wizengamot?"

Andromeda looked up sharply. "Greengrass visited you, didn't she?"

My silence was answer enough.

"I thought I told you to stay away from her."

"Daphne isn't that terrible, Andromeda. She just wanted to ask if I knew anything the case." She had also pointed her wand at me and indirectly accused me to making up the murders, but Andromeda didn't need to know that.

"I don't feel like arguing with you about Greengrass right now. I came here to tell you that when you get out of here, you should come to my house as soon as possible. I'll arrange for you to speak with Lucius."

"With Lucius Malfoy?"

"He's an odious wretch, to be sure, but even if he doesn't show it, he wants justice done for his heir's death as much as Cissy does. And the Malfoy name and money may be able to open doors that would otherwise be closed. It could prove crucial in your investigation."

I felt slightly amused. "Why does everyone seem to think that I'm going to be in charge of this case?"

"You're Harry Potter," Andromeda said simply. She stood up. "I'm afraid I can't stay too long; Teddy is waiting for me. Good night, Harry."

* * *

The next morning, I was released.


	3. Prophets and Profits

**Title: **Stained Crimson

**Author: **Qwerky Qity

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter Three: **Prophets and Profits

* * *

Head Auror Robards wanted to see me, so I decided to go to his office before Apparating home. It was still fairly early, and there was always the risk that I would wake Ginny or James up if I just burst in right now. Besides, Robards didn't really like to wait, and there was not need to offend yet another one of my superiors.

Knocking on the door and hearing a loud "Come in!", I entered.

Robards was sitting behind a messy, paper-covered standard Ministry desk. He was a well-built man with a ragged beard not unlike Scrimgeour's and a habit of looking so intently at you that it felt like he was trying to stare you down. He didn't particularly dislike me, but didn't really like me either. Nevertheless, he was a fair man who generally tried to remain unprejudiced, so we got along fine most of the time.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Potter. You're on probation."

I blinked. Did I mention that Robards preferred the blunt approach? Normally, it was refreshing after a day dealing with the rest of the Ministry—oily, lying snakes, Ron called them—but there were times when I would have preferred a gentler way of speaking.

"But—"

"No buts. We had to go through a lot of trouble to get you released; some people wanted you to stay where you were for weeks. Luckily for you, the Minister intervened." Robards gave me the Look—a penetrating glower that, coupled with Robards' visage, was very discomforting. Every Auror here has received the Look at least once, usually after doing something that Robards didn't approve of. "If you can complete this assignment without any problems"—that usually means no one coming to the office to complain about me, which is almost impossible at the best of times—"I'll consider removing you from probation."

I nodded, gritting my teeth. Probation means a decreased salary and the chance that some idiot who didn't like me could get me fired.

Robards flicked his wand. The door slammed shut. "I have something else to tell you too, Potter, that I hope will not be spread around the Department."

"Of course, sir."

"The Minister specifically requested that you are to the one to take this case. It was, in fact, one of his conditions before he allowed you to be removed from the holding cell. And he also mentioned that he would prefer for you to work on the case with a partner. As you know, the Minister was once an Auror as well, and he cannot be ignorant of that investigations such as the one you have been given are always done alone." Robards paused meaningfully. "Do you understand?"

"I understand, sir." Robards was implying that someone had said something to Kingsley, someone who thought they could have an advantage if I were the one to investigate the Malfoys' death. Someone who was likely the murderer. "Can Neville—"

"Auror Longbottom has the Portkey incident in Kent to take care of," Robards interrupted before I could finish. "I would advise that you chose some else."

That didn't bode well. While there were many competent Aurors in the Department, Neville was the only one I knew better than an acquaintance, and, well, there were times that you simply can't trust people you don't know that well.

"I will, sir. Thank you for the information."

At least I now have an actual reason to pursue Malfoy's murderer.

* * *

"Harry!"

Ginny had flung herself onto me as soon as the door opened, sobbing. I patted her hair comfortingly, slowly edging us inside and closing the door behind us. I didn't like being stuck in the doorway. It made me too vulnerable to outside attacks, since the wards, which needed to be tethered to a physical object, weren't as strong outside the house.

Merlin. I was turning into Mad-Eye Moody.

"I was so worried when Hermione said that you were arrested for causing a disturbance at the funeral! I knew you shouldn't have gone! Ron was right, oh, Harry, what if they didn't release you?" Her hands beat on my back reproachfully. "What would I have done if they didn't?"

"I'm sorry," I said with the practice and ease of a man married for four years. There was no need to worry her by telling her I was on probation. Again. "I didn't mean to."

Ginny wiped her tears away. "And I suppose that they've stuck the case on you too."

I gave her my most winning smile. It didn't work. But luckily, Ginny only sighed this time. "You should probably go back to the Ministry, then." She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "Ron made breakfast."

"Oy!" Ron's indignant shout came from the kitchen area. "I heard that!"

Laughing, I pulled Ginny with me into the kitchen, where Hermione was reading the _Daily Prophet_. James was sitting next to her in a high chair, and when he saw me, he waved his hands. "Dada!"

"How's my little man?" I scoop James up, to his delight. "Ready to sample Uncle's Ron's cooking?"

James babbled happily. I noticed that he was holding his small spoon. It wasn't a good omen, because James had a tendency to use the spoon a lot, but not for eating. And we couldn't get it out of his hand unless he fell asleep. "Who gave you that, little man?"

A chubby hand went in Ron's direction. Still clueless as to the horror that was about to be unleashed, Ron levitated four plates and four bowls onto the table. He was wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron with an adorable sewn kneazle that prowled back and forth between two dishes. Looking at the fancy cashmere sweater Hermione had on though, I was fairly sure that he wasn't going to be kissed anytime soon once James dug in.

"Foo!" James cried as he saw the bowl of…something (porridge, perhaps?) settle in front of him. Hermione cooed and petted his messy auburn hair. Then her expression became serious again as she slid the _Prophet_ toward me.

"You should look at this, Harry."

I took the paper with some apprehension. The headlines screamed: _Harry Potter unveils Malfoy deaths as murder! Conspiracy or truth?_ Below was a blown up photograph of me being held back by the two Aurors, while Kingsley was gesturing to the crowd at the other edge of the photo. Astoria Malfoy's body laid between us, and I realized with a sickening jolt that the photo had been taken before she was covered again with the sheet. Her wounds were clearly visible…but so was the rest of her.

Perhaps I should not have done what I did, but the _Prophet_ had no right to humiliate a dead woman like this.

Then I saw that it was written by Zacharias Smith, Special Correspondent.

No wonder.

A war and seven years had changed Smith very little. He was still as haughty and unpleasant as he had been in Hogwarts, maybe even more so now that he had the power of his Smith and Hufflepuff houses behind him, having inherited the title of Lord Smith after his great-uncle passed on. The editor probably thought that Smith's political pull, coupled with the good name of his House, would counter any complaints the Greengrasses and Malfoys made.

Ron's yelp of surprise informed me that James had indeed begun using his spoon. I looked up from the _Prophet_, and felt my anger ebb slightly at the sight of a thoroughly porridge-covered Ron. Ginny and Hermione, both splattered horribly as well, were trying to wrestle the spoon away from James without hurting him to no avail. Clearly, they had no idea how to persuade James to let go.

Hiding my smile, I decided that I'd better take care of this before going to the _Prophet_.

* * *

The editor of the _Daily Prophet_ was a tiny, beetle-like man who sweated too often and shook too much. In contrast, Smith, who sat to his left, was calm and composed. His long legs were crossed carelessly, and he even paused to take a sip of his morning coffee. The crest of the House of Smith—twin hawks encircling the letter "S" on a sable background—was inlaid into his robes, which were of the finest quality.

If this man had been anyone other than Zacharias Smith, I would have been impressed. Not many people could look so at ease when the Man-Who-Conquered had them at wandpoint.

"I want this article retracted, and I want a full apology to the Houses of Malfoy and Greengrass. Is that clear?"

The editor opened his mouth, likely to agree with me, when Smith interjected.

"Why should we, Potter? You don't own the _Prophet_. I expect that you don't even have enough money to own a fraction of it."

The last part was said with especial malice. It was true that the Houses of Potter and Black, while fairly ancient, were not very rich, though they weren't exactly poor either. And now that the age of completely dominance by the Head of House was over, the only thing that really had value was gold, and maybe any influence that may come with the name. Titles were fancy and required if you wanted to be invited to important social gathering, but otherwise pointless.

Then a familiar voice sounded behind me.

"Maybe Potter doesn't, but I do."

It was Daphne Greengrass. She was leaning in the doorway, inspecting her nails. They had been painted a deep green to match her embroidered robes. Similarly-colored make-up on her face gave her a drowned look. Her position gave me a perfect view of her profile, and for once, she didn't seem like she wanted to play around.

Smith flinched when he saw her. I took great pleasure in hearing the sound.

"Now, _Zachy_,"—at this, Smith flinched again—"I see that Harry Potter has had the same thoughts as me about this..." Daphne gestured with her hand at the photograph. "…this abomination. I believe that between he and I, we can make quite a bit of trouble for _Prophet_. And for you too, Zachy," she added as an afterthought. "Maybe you should consider what Potter asked."

Smith glared at her, but didn't speak.

"Of course." The editor, seeing that his defender was silent, hurried to say something. "We'll have a full apology printed, Miss. I didn't realize that the photo would be so awful, thought that it would only be the article." He smiled weakly.

Disgusting creature.

Smith stood up. His face was red with anger. Silently, I congratulated Daphne. I had never gotten Smith so upset, and Merlin knows I've been trying for years. He had always been a thorn in my side, but that Slug Club business with Hermione happened, and our mutual dislike inflamed into outright hatred. Then he turned his glare on me.

"Gotten bored of the Weaselette already, Potter?"

I froze. "What did you say?"

It was the wrong thing to do. Smith's attitude immediately changed from fury to delight. "So you have? Well, I knew that she was nothing to look at, but I didn't think that your second choice would be Greengrass. Haven't you heard any of the rumors about her?"

"He's more likely to have heard the rumors about you, Zachy." Daphne idly traced the edges of patterns on her robes. There was something threatening about her posture, though, which seemed to make Smith think twice before speaking. "I think you'd better leave before I confirm them. We are sitting in the middle of the _Prophet_'s office, after all."

Smith was shaking in fury. For a moment, it looked like he would draw his wand and demand a duel.

Then, to my utter surprise, he stalked out.

* * *

Daphne and I left the office together. Well, not exactly together, but side-by-side. Considering that we were in the heart of the _Daily Prophet_, it was probably already bad enough. I could just see the headlines tomorrow popping up: _War hero going Dark? Harry Potter seen with Dark witch!_

When we got to the entrance, Daphne suddenly stopped, grabbing my arm. "Thank you, Harry. Not many men would have done what you just did."

Did she really mean it or was she just playing with me? Not wanting to be caught off-guard, I decided to go the safe route and move the topic away from me.

"You must not have a very high opinion of men, then."

"I suppose not." Daphne laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes. "But I'm being serious here, Harry. It was a very gallant thing to do."

I smiled back warily. "Well, that's me. The great and gallant Harry Potter. The knight in shining armor."

"You forgot to mention that you're the savior of fair maidens everywhere." Daphne leaned closer, still gripping my arm. I could smell a faint scent of vanilla, under which was something…colder. Darker. It unnerved me so much I nearly missed her next sentence. "Meet me for lunch? There's a delightful little restaurant near the Leaky Cauldron."

That was very sudden and very awkward. I didn't want to agree, but something in me hesitated to turn her down. So I said the first thing that came to mind. "Congratulations on riling up Smith."

Daphne waved her hand dismissively. "Zachy's very sensitive. You just have to know which his weak spots are. But back to the point. I asked you out to lunch. You haven't given me an answer yet."

"I promised Andromeda I would have lunch with her." It wasn't entirely true, but Andromeda did ask me to come over as soon as possible.

"So you're rejecting me in favor of her." Daphne didn't look very disappointed, but I had a sudden feeling of foreboding. "Isn't she a little old for you?"

I sputtered. "She's my godson's grandmother!"

"So? My mother was my father's half-brother's great-aunt."

"_What_?" That relationship was too bizarre to imagine. I suddenly had an image in my head of a wrinkled, white-haired old woman with Aunt Petunia's long neck hanging onto the arm of a faceless young man, with a younger version of Daphne smiling between them. That didn't seem like a marriage that would work out.

Daphne huffed. "Never mind. Just remember that you have a dinner date and I don't want any more excuses. Just meet me outside the Leaky Cauldron at five sharp. And dress up."

"A _date_?"

"Call it a meeting to discuss dear Draco's death if that's the justification you need. But don't stand me up. People who do that tend to meet bad ends." Daphne smiled sweetly. "See you at five."

She Disapparated before I had the chance to say anything else.

* * *

"Harry!" Teddy bounced—literally—through the front door of Andromeda's modest house and into my arms. He hugged me quickly and looked up with the guileless eyes of an eight-year-old kid. And continued to look at me, expectantly.

I resisted an urge to smile. "Where's Granma, Teddy? I need to talk to her."

"Harry." Teddy tugged at my robes and patted my pockets. He frowned when he came up with nothing. "Where is it?"

"Where is what? What are you looking for?" I knew perfectly what he was looking for, but I enjoyed playing along with Teddy's increasing impatient search too much to help facilitate it.

"Teddy Lupin!" Andromeda stepped onto the porch, looking sternly at her grandson, still wearing black mourning robes. Teddy ducked behind me with a whimper. I didn't blame him; sometimes, when she was angry, Andromeda could have passed for Bellatrix's twin. "Don't hide behind your godfather."

Slowly, he shuffled out, head down in a seemingly ashamed fashion. But when his grandmother sighed and closed her eyes momentarily, he took the opportunity to send me a resentful glare and mouth, _Where is it?_

Smart kid. I hid my amusement.

"I'm ashamed of your conduct, Teddy. You said you would be on your best behavior today, which is why I let you meet your godfather outside. But Harry is your godfather, not your personal gift-giver. He has the prerogative to _not_ bring you a present every time he comes—Merlin knows that you have enough of them already. Now, apologize to Harry, and we can go back inside."

Teddy stuck out his lower lip mulishly. His hair shifted to a shocking neon green with violet stripes, and I saw Andromeda purse her lips. "Sorry, Harry."

"I accept your apology." Unable to stifle my broad smile, I squatted down to match Teddy's height, reaching inside my sleeve to take out a paper-wrapped box with an enormous bow. "Here it is."

"I knew it!" Teddy's face lit up as he grabbed it from me.

"Say thank you," Andromeda called after him, but my clever little godson had already slipped past her. I could hear him racing up the stairs. Andromeda sighed again. "I'm sorry about that, Harry."

I waved it off. "He's just a boy."

"Even so, you shouldn't spoil him like that. He's beginning to expect you to give him presents every time."

"So?"

Andromeda smiled resignedly, but I could tell by the crinkles around her eyes that she wasn't truly upset with me. For all her attempts to be strict with Teddy, she had a soft spot for her only grandson and couldn't deny him anything. "Come on in."

Andromeda's house is a small, cozy place not unlike the Burrow in its atmosphere. She had refused all attempts by both Narcissa and I to persuade her to move in with us, or to get her a bigger house. I think she just kept it to annoy Lucius when Narcissa forced him to visit her sister. And maybe because there's too many memories here, of her husband and Tonks. I preferred to move away from places that were tied to my past, but Andromeda had a different way of dealing with such things.

"Have you looked into it yet?"

"No," I admitted. "I figured Ginny was worried, so I went home as soon as possible. Then…" I trailed off as I debated whether or not to tell Andromeda of the events at the _Prophet_'s office. Considering that my lying skills hadn't improved much, I might accidentally let something slip, and I didn't think that Andromeda would be too pleased to hear of my 'date' with Daphne, so I stopped. "I had to take care of some business at the _Prophet_."

She nodded distractedly. "Lucius said that he might be on to something,"

"Is he coming here?"

Her lips thinned. It wasn't a good sign. "No. Lucius wants you to meet him at Malfoy Manor."

"Why not here?"

"If he agreed to go to your office or have both of you meet here, he would be perceived as treating like an equal, or even a superior. Lucius, as you know, is very proud and will not hurt his social standing like that. If you go to Malfoy Manor, you would be seen as the supplicant." Andromeda frowned. "Lucius isn't willing to lose face, even to catch his son's murderer. It would serve him right if you decided to not go and just continue on your own."

Clearly, she disapproved of Lucius Malfoy's actions enough that she no longer thought I should use the Malfoy name and connections. Then again, Andromeda had been born as a daughter of the Blacks, and even if she had broken ties with her family, old habits died hard.

But being the Muggle-raised, on-probation half-blood that I was, it made no difference to me. "Can I borrow your Floo?"

"Of course. Just say 'Malfoy Manor Study.' Good luck in dealing with Lucius. Merlin knows you'll need it."

* * *

The study at Malfoy Manor was an enormous, high-ceilinged room. Ornate stone statues decorated the four corners—an owl, an eagle, a raven, a hawk. Unnatural light was filtered through heavy stained-glass windows behind the carved wooden desk, casting deep shadows on the rich velvet carpet, while the tinkling chandelier hung in the center. It was ostentatious and proud. Just like the Malfoys themselves, as a matter of fact.

Since Lucius wasn't here yet, I decided to look around a little. The wooden tables on the sides held a variety of interesting objects, from worn books that seemed on par with _Moste Potente Potions _to little knickknacks that looked as if they came from a Muggle antique store. There were several small paintings, too, of Malfoy ancestors. Or at least, I thought they were of Malfoys, because every subject was blonde. Though the occupants could move, they mainly sat there and looked at me coldly. As a rookie Auror, I had found this uncomforting, but after raiding several pureblood mansions, I soon learned that some talking portraits were the least my worries.

One of them was particularly interesting. It was a small portrait of a familiar-looking blonde girl, though her hair wasn't quite the platinum shade of the other Malfoys. I noticed several of the other subjects glaring at her and muttering rather impolite things, but the girl either didn't want to or couldn't move, because she just looked forward with her blank smile. She was quite pretty in a fragile way and didn't seem like the type to harm a fly. With the pale pink ribbons in her hair, she looked almost child-like. I was trying to place where I saw here when a cold voice sounded behind me.

"Put that down, Potter."

Lucius had arrived. Slowly, I turned, still holding the portrait. "Hello, Lucius."

"I said that you should put that down."

I smiled, a little mockingly. "Is this special?"

Lucius was clearly unhappy, but didn't seem to think the portrait was worth a fight, because he responded. "It is a miniature of my late daughter-in-law."

Ah, Daphne's sister. No wonder she had looked familiar. I set it down, and a thought flashed through my head of the poor girl's home life. With a sister like Daphne, she must not have gotten a lot of peace. I felt a little bad for her.

"Now," Lucius said, striding to sit on the chair behind the carved desk, "let us speak of the issue I called you here today for. You have been charged to investigate the murder of Draco and Astoria." As if I didn't know that already. "Draco and Astoria were my son and daughter-in-law, so I feel bound by family honor to aid you." How nice, he didn't even care that it was his _son_ who had been murdered. "What do you want from me?"

I could see why Andromeda had suddenly decided that Lucius' callous personality outweighed any benefits of his potential support. Then I remember the morning's conversation with Robards, and forced a pleasant smile on my face. "Anything you want to share would be great."

Lucius nodded and shuffled some papers around. "I used some of my contacts in the Ministry to assemble a list of potential suspects who have the ability to commit such a crime, as well as the motivation to do so." He slapped a thick folder in front of me. "On the advice of Andromeda, I have also assembled a list of the Wizengamot factions. She said you suspected one of them could have killed Draco." His tone indicated that he was not at all impressed by either Andromeda or me, but another pile landed on top of the folder.

"Thanks." I took the papers and shrunk them, then slipped them into my pocket. "Anything else?"

"Just one more thing. Can we speak frankly, Potter?" Lucius' eyes darted to the doorway. He looked almost nervous. That in of itself was surprising, since I didn't think Lucius was ever nervous. Angry and hateful and rude, but not nervous.

"Sure."

"It's actually why I wanted to meet here. I didn't want anyone to have the chance to overhear this."

Was Lucius actually rambling? Wow, you really did learn something new every day. I leaned forward, a little curious. First Robards, now Lucius. This case was becoming more interesting by the minute. "And?"

"Andromeda also told me Daphne Greengrass visited you in the holding cells."

"So?"

"Stay away from her, Potter. She won't help your investigation."

I frowned "How do you know that? Wasn't Daphne the one to tell you about the problems on the Wizengamot?"

Lucius' eyebrows drew together. Clearly, he did not like be reminded of that. "You'll regret going near her, Potter. She'll—" He cut himself off, his lips pressing together. "Just stay away from her."

I considered his words and stood up to leave. "When you can give me a good reason for doing so, I will. Until then, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to give your words all the consideration they currently deserve." I took great pleasure in smirking at him. He wouldn't be telling Robards on me, not when he was so unwilling to let whatever it was about Daphne get out. "Which is none at all."

For a moment, impotent fury flashed across Lucius' face, before he buried it under an expressionless mask. "Very well then. Your loss, Potter."

He clapped his hands, I felt myself being unceremoniously pushed toward the fireplace by invisible hands. The last thing I saw before the Floo ejected me back to Andromeda's was the miniature of poor, dead Astoria Malfoy smiling so brightly in the middle of the hostile Malfoy portraits.


	4. Mistakes and Misunderstandings

**Title: **Stained Crimson

**Author: **Qwerky Qity

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter Four: **Mistakes and Misunderstandings

* * *

"Potter."

I turned, and saw Lisa Turpin standing there, arms folded as she looked at me impatiently. "What?"

"Robards said that you need a partner for your newest case."

My eyebrows shot up to my (not receding, thank you very much) hairline. "So you volunteered?"

I had a good reason to be skeptical. Alone, Lisa and I both had good track records, but together…well, last time we worked together, she had a rather tense argument with Hermione on something that neither of them ever bothered to explain to me. The time before that, I Flooed with her to my house after a particularly nasty fight in a back alley and Ginny ended up throwing Lisa and I both out the house, because she was somehow under the delusion that I had decided to cheat on her. And the time before that—

"Neville decided that you needed someone to help you," Lisa said snappishly. "I know that your family has problems with me, but since Neville asked so nicely, I thought that maybe I could give this another try."

I considered this. Normally, I trusted Neville's judgment, but Lisa was a special case. He had been heads over heels in love with her for the last few years, which was something that infuriated his Gran, who disliked all Turpins as a rule of thumb, and surprised me. While Lisa wasn't haughty like Smith or bigoted like Malfoy, saying that her personality left something to be desired was still a bit of an understatement.

Still, Robards' memory unnerved me, especially considering how few Aurors I knew I could trust. I usually defaulted to Neville when we needed a partner, so I hadn't bothered to form any deep friendships with the other Aurors. It wasn't completely my fault either; most of them were wary of me because of Voldemort, or Ministry toadies I tried to avoid.

I sighed. "Fine. Just don't let Ginny know, alright?"

A sliver of a smile crossed her face. "No promises, Potter. Now, onto the pressing matters. I heard that you got a file from Lucius Malfoy?"

"You did?" I didn't recall telling anyone about it.

"Yes, I did. Where is it?"

"Er…" I patted my pockets, breathing a sigh of relief when I finally found it. "Here."

She opened it, and glanced at the names. Her eyes lingered on the page for such a long that I was wondering if I should speak up.

Finally, Lisa tore her gaze away from the folder. "Harry...you haven't looked at this yet, have you?"

"Not yet," I said, wondering why she would ask it. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Lisa closed the folder quickly. "Can I keep this?"

I hesitated. For some reason, I had the odd feeling that there was something in the folder that Lisa didn't want me to see, but there was no reason for Lisa to hide anything from me. Besides, Lisa was usually better at lying than this. There was no reason for her to lie badly. Something definitely wasn't right here, and my instincts were telling me that thing had to do with what was in the file Lucius Malfoy gave me.

"Can't you just duplicate a copy for yourself?"

"Of course. Can't believe I forgot about that." Lisa tapped the folder with her wand, and it immediately glowed and began to separate into two. "Must be the Muggle in me."

"Don't worry," I said. "I do that sometimes too."

Lisa handed one folder to me. "I need to look up a couple of names. Do you know where Flint lives?"

Flint…Marcus Flint was dead. Lisa must be referring to his father then—Petrus Flint. The elder Flint had been on the Wizengamot some years ago, but retired around the time the war ended and holed himself up.

"He lives somewhere in Devon, right?"

Lisa sighed and conjured up a slip of paper with and address on it. "Just take this."

"Thanks," I said. "But why are we going to see him? Neville said that Flint hasn't so much as left his estate for months."

"Just go, Potter. I'll meet you there in thirty minutes with the warrant." She hurried down the corridor, pushing past a bewildered-looking couple. From the looks of them, they were probably Muggles, which mean that someone must have been Muggle-baiting somewhere and the Ministry needed witnesses. It was a sad fact, but the even people I normally didn't consider bigots and blood supremacists thought it was fun to mess with Muggles.

Sighing, I opened the folder in my hands and looked at the line of names. Lisa must have given me the duplicate, because I could practically feel the magic coming off of the folder. Then I looked closer at the names.

Or rather, more closely at the handwriting.

Despite common belief, dictating spells were responsive not to the speech around them, but to the intent of their owner—which was probably why Rita Skeeter's Quick Quotes Quill worked as well as it did. Like most magic, the dictating spell adjusted itself slightly for each wizard or witch; that was why essays written with dictating quills were almost indistinguishable from essays written by hand.

I couldn't say that I was familiar with Lucius Malfoy's handwriting, but even I could tell that the names were not written by a masculine hand. On the other hand, the handwriting looked awfully similar to that on the slip of paper Lisa had given me.

Lisa hadn't handed me a duplicate, but a whole new file.

What was she playing at?

* * *

I had once heard someone said that Petrus Flint lived under a giant rock. Considering how out of touch with reality he seemed to be during the few times I had spoken to him, I had thought nothing of it.

Now, though, I was fairly sure that it had been more than just a comment on Flint's personality. Lisa was a little late, which gave me the time to closely examine the wards. They were too strong for me to break them down alone, but I could make enough of a dent that the normally hidden manor became visible—or maybe manor was too kind of a word to describe it. The Flint ancestral home looked like an enormous piece of rock that had several holes cut into it for windows and doors.

"Ugly, isn't it?"

I jumped, wand at the ready, but it was only Lisa. "I thought you said that you were going to meet me in half an hour."

There was soot in her hair. She must have used the Floo—hurriedly, too, if she hadn't the time to clean off the soot.

"I got a little sidetracked," Lisa said stiffly.

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. Do you have the warrant?"

She nodded and drew out an official-looking document from her robes. "Let's go in." A small smile touched the edges of her mouth. "Do you want to do the honors?"

I grinned in response and raised my wand to the wards, unleashing a blasting spell, a bombardment hex, and a few cutting curses for good measure. The first layer of wards crumbled beneath my assault like a house of cards, setting off a series of more powerful, more dangerous wards.

Most pureblooded homes had adapted something colloquially known among half-bloods and Muggleborns as doorbell wards. The purebloods themselves, of course, called them proximity wards, to differentiate themselves from plebeians like us, but these wards—proximity or doorbell or whatever—were basically harmless. However, ancestral homes were built during periods of constant conflict and magical warfare and tended to have harsher measures to ensure the safety of their inhabitants. The first time I had encountered wards like that, I had to stay at St. Mungo's for a month to ensure that my limbs would remain permanently attached to my body.

Fortunately, Potters have been warding for hundreds of years, and while the living quarters of the Potter House had burned down sometime two centuries ago, a partially salvaged wing still remained with, to Hermione's delight, an almost perfectly preserved library. I soon learned that the best way to overcome most wards was through brute strength: firing high-power curses until they collapsed. Of course, any warder who was worth his money would have accounted for this, but collapsing first-layer wards could also act as a way of alerting the master of the place that someone was knocking at the door, so to speak.

Sure enough, I saw a powerfully built old man come out of a hole in the rock. Seeing me and Lisa, the look on his face immediately changed to irritation and he walked back into the rock.

"Hey!" I paused to cast a _Sonorus_ on myself. "We are Aurors from the Ministry of Magic and we have a warrant to search your house for—"

"He's not going to listen, Potter," Lisa interrupted. "Bring down the second-layer wards."

I looked at her in surprise. The Ministry usually looked the other way when first-layer wards were brought down, but any more, and we could be facing charges. Not serious charges, but enough to land me in a holding cell, something I couldn't afford at the moment. Warrants only did so much in the wizarding world when they were applied to old families. More importantly, second-layer wards were more dangerous than first-layer wards, and I didn't care to test what nasty tricks the Flints had to protect their rock.

"But—"

"Just do it."

"Lisa, we can't—"

To my alarm, Lisa flung a volley of curses on the second layer of wards. There was the signature bright film of crumbling wards, but instead of fading, it began to grow brighter, forming a huge, thick layer of pure light.

My eyes widened.

"Watch out!"

I raised a shield charm just in time to stop pieces of shrapnel from turning Lisa and I into shreds. I heard her scream, but that might have just been a hallucination. The blinding white light was enough to push all other senses from my mind. I could see every tiny capillary in my eyelids.

Then world went mercifully black.

* * *

Soft buzzing became distinct voices as I returned to consciousness, but I kept my eyes firmly closed. Better to be sure of my surroundings than to give up my advantage by showing that I was awake before I could reasonably defend myself.

"Potter's not dead, is he?"

It was Lisa. She sounded slightly worried. At least she hadn't been purposely trying to get us killed, then. That was good to know; considering what had happened so far, I had half-suspected that she was working for the someone who had wanted to get rid of me.

A grunt answered her. "He'll be fine, his shield took the brunt of the impact anyway. But that was foolish of you, girl, trying to break down my wards. Didn't I tell you that it was dangerous?"

Lisa muttered something under her breath that I didn't catch before raising her voice. "I just want to stop him from continuing on. I don't want him to die."

Flint laughed. "You like Potter?"

"He's not a bad person. Better than…well, you know."

"Marcus always told me that you little girls found Potter very handsome."

Lisa was silent for a long time. I hoped that meant that she disagreed with Flint, or Neville would be very heartbroken. Either way, I decided to 'wake up' before they continued on in this vein. I tried to open my eyes, and immediately regretted the decision as I closed them again, gasping in pain.

"What happened to me?"

Old Flint gave a bark of laughter. "That was the Wall of Light, don't you know, boy? Burns out the eyeballs of intruders foolish enough to think that they can overcome it."

"Lord Flint, please be quiet." That sounded oddly formal considering the conversation I had just heard. Lisa touched my forehead gingerly. "Are you feeling alright, Potter?"

"I'm swell, thank you," I said tersely. Maybe it was a little rude, but even if she didn't want to kill me, Lisa was hiding something from me. When she decided to trust me, we could go back to having a polite relationship. "Flint just told you that I got my eyeballs burnt out. How do you think I feel?"

I heard Lisa sigh. "Other than your eyes, I mean."

"Fine. Unless the wards cut off my arms again as well."

"Well," Flint interjected, "if you're not terribly crippled then you can leave my house. I'll even be so gracious as to not press charges if you exit in a quick and efficient manner."

"You will?" Lisa asked, surprised.

I grabbed Lisa's arm. "Show me the way out."

* * *

"Merlin, Potter," Lisa grumbled. "I thought that Gryffindor was for the brave."

"I was brave," I pointed out as I nearly tripped. My eyes still hadn't returned to normal, so I was dependent on Lisa to show me the way to St. Mungo's. "If I wasn't, I would have left you to the face that Wall of Light alone."

Lisa made an angry noise, but lowered her voice, as we had entered the reception area. "Potter, we could have actually talked to Petrus Flint and gotten something out of him if you weren't so eager to leave just that he wouldn't press charges—"

"Wait." I stopped in my tracks, forcing Lisa to stop as well. She had just presented me with an excellent opportunity to interrogate her. "Did you _want_ to get caught?"

"Don't be idiotic, Potter! Just because I want to actually get this case done doesn't mean that—"

"Harry? Lisa?"

It was Neville's voice. I tried to turn around, but turning around isn't such a good idea when you can't see. I ended up tripping over my own feet and falling down.

"Ow!"

"Can't you do anything right, Potter?" Lisa sighed. "Never mind. Neville, your friend needs medical attention for his eyes. Find him a healer, alright?"

I could hear her footsteps fading away. As Neville pulled me up, he asked, "What happened?"

I groaned. "My eyes got burned out by Flint's wards."

"Flint?" I could hear the surprise in Neville's voice. "Why were you visiting Flint?"

"Don't ask," I muttered. "But as a friend, Neville, I feel that I should warn you about Lisa—mmphf!"

"The lip sealing jinx will wear off in an hour," Neville said patiently. "Harry, mate, I know that you want to help me, but I hear enough of from my Gran as it is. Please don't join in."

"Mmphf!"

* * *

"I'm home!"

I strode into the living room and smiled at what I saw there. Ginny was sitting down with James, and they were putting together a puzzle. Or rather, Ginny was attempting, unsuccessfully, to get James to stop biting on the pieces while James' face was beginning to screw up in a way that preceded a tantrum. Still, it was a nice picture—the kind of family I always imagined going home to.

"Harry, stop grinning and get over here." Ginny pushed herself up, slowly. She was still in the first trimester, but, as with her first pregnancy, her back was very sore. I hurried forward to help her up. This caused James to give a wail of indignation that no one was paying attention to him, so I had to bend down again to pick him up.

Ginny sighed tiredly and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Your son's being difficult, Harry."

"So he's only my son when he being difficult?" I asked teasingly.

Ginny smiled. "Did they release you from work already?"

"No, but I decided to come home a bit early." Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was already a quarter past four, and while I hadn't exactly promised to meet Daphne at five, the day's work—and the conversation with Lucius—had made me more and more curious about her. "I'll need to leave soon though."

"Why?" Ginny looked at me, a little upset. I felt a prickle of unease and guilt for lying to my wife, which I tried to assuage with the thought that it wasn't like I would be doing anything that would really hurt her. I just wanted to get this investigation over with. "Where are you going? Can't you at least stay to eat something?"

"Eat!" James squealed happily and wiped his wet, chewed-up puzzle piece on my robes. "Eat!"

"Sorry, little man. Daddy can't eat with you today." I looked at Ginny. "I have a meeting for the Malfoy case. Mandatory."

She nodded reluctantly. "Just try to come back before nine, alright?"

"Sure." I carried James over to the high chair, silently congratulating myself for managing to insert him in after only three tries. "By the way, do you know where I left my dress robes?"

"I think they're still in the laundry." Ginny looked at me curiously. "Do you need them?"

I silently cursed my laziness. "My Muggle suit is still clean, right?"

Ginny nodded, and I hurried upstairs to change. I didn't think that Daphne would like seeing me in Muggle clothes, but better that than the rest of my robes. Descending the stairs again, I quickly brushed a kiss on Ginny's cheek before running out. "Bye!"

"Remember to come back early!"

* * *

"Going Muggle, Harry?"

I privately felt that Daphne was actually pleased that I was wearing a Muggle suit, because she herself was in Muggle clothes as well—a shocking bright red dress, complete with an elaborate hood that must have had a notice-me-not charm on it, because there had to be a reason that Daphne wasn't attracting more stares. Well, more stares than I would expect her to normally get, at least.

"You're wearing Muggle clothes, too," I pointed out.

"Whatever." She latched onto my arm. I noticed that her sleeve, which I had previously thought unadorned, was pinned together with needles. Lots of needles. Magical wardrobe wasn't my forte, but she had probably charmed the needles too, since they were extra-shiny and didn't seem to poke into her skin despite their sharpness. "Let's go, Potter."

To my surprise, the Apparation wasn't as bad as usual. That was to say, I wasn't being forced through a straw, though it was still plenty dizzying. When the world finally stopped spinning, I realized that we were standing behind of bushes of…a Muggle restaurant.

"We're going to a Muggle restaurant."

"Yes, we are, Harry." Daphne dragged me out from behind the bushes. "You have a habit of stating the obvious."

I decided to change the subject before she could get too comfortable. "Most purebloods I've met don't know that Muggle restaurants exist."

"Not all purebloods are as ignorant as my late brother-in-law. Some of us are actually intelligent enough to think that there is something worth studying about in Muggle society."

I raised an eyebrow. "Isn't there a rule about not speaking ill of the dead?"

"A superstition," Daphne dismissed. "Besides, I doubt anyone other than Lady Malfoy has anything good to say about Draco."

"Not even his father?" The conversation with Lucius Malfoy drifted into the forefront of my mind, including his warning about Daphne. I didn't want to tell her about Lucius' words at the moment, even if I was curious about exactly what Daphne could have done that would have made Lucius so wary.

Daphne's lips curved into something that was between a scowl and a smile. "Lord Malfoy's relationship with his son wasn't…as good as it used to be, shall we say, when Draco died."

"Did something happen between them?"

She shrugged. I was about to pursue this line of questioning when we entered the restaurant. Soft music floated through the entire place, and I noticed with a degree of alarm that many of the tables were candle-lit and covered with red and…

"Daphne, I think that this is a restaurant for couples," I whispered hastily to her as we were led to our seats.

Her eyes reflected the candlelight, gleaming amusedly. "I know."

Clearly, she was just trying to get a rise out of me. Part of me wanted to just bolt and go back home, but the other part was…curious? Intrigued? At any rate, I reasoned, I should learn why people wanted me away from Daphne before leaving.

The server looked at us. "Would you like anything to drink?"

Daphne said something in…French? Italian? I wasn't sure what she said, or even which language she said it in, but the server just nodded and walked away.

Suddenly a thought hit me. This had happened a few times with Ginny too, when we had begun dating again after the war, but Ginny was different from Daphne. I felt my face redden with embarrassment at what I would have to do.

"Er, Daphne?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How much will dinner cost?"

"Don't worry about money, Harry. I'll be paying."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll pay you back later."

"No need." Daphne turned the page in her menu. "I invited you, Harry. That means I pay. Next time, when you decide to ask me out, you can pay." She sounded very sure that I would ask her out. "Do you like lamb, Potter?"

"Lamb? Er, if you want it. I'm not very good with this kind of thing."

"No surprise," Daphne sighed. "Ginny Weasley doesn't strike me as the type who knows how to eat properly."

"She's my wife." It came out harsher than I had expected. "Don't talk about her like that."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

Luckily, the server came back at that moment, with a wine bottle and two glasses and poured a little into each glass. He murmured something to Daphne, who replied in the same language she had used to order the wine. The server nodded and left.

I deliberately took the wine bottle and poured it until the glass was almost full. Then I took a drink. "Much better."

I didn't really like the wine, but the irritation on Daphne's face was worth it.

"Payback? How rude of you, Harry." Daphne didn't seem too bothered, because she was smiling again. "But onto more important matters. I heard that you visited the Rock today."

I blinked. "The Rock?"

"The Flints' ancestral home."

"Oh." I should have known; the Rock was a very apt name for the Flint ancestral home. "Yeah, I did. What about it?"

"You went there with Lisa Turpin, didn't you?" Daphne swirled the wine around in her glass. The candlelight reflected off of her eyes, the wine, the needles on her sleeve. It was dizzying. "Are you very familiar with Turpin, Harry? Enough to trust her with a case this important?"

Something about the way she said it made my heart thud faster. I remembered the conversation between Flint and Lisa I had overheard, the false folder she had given me. Was it possible that Lisa had something to do the murders?

"What are you saying?" I asked. "That Lisa killed the Malfoys?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. Unless something happened between the time I knew her and now, Lisa wouldn't have it in her to kill a rabbit, much less two people."

My eyebrows shot up again. "You knew Lisa?"

"Not very well," Daphne admitted. "But I knew her well enough to know that she is a lot less clever than she gives herself credit for. That is not to say that she is stupid, of course. Quite the opposite. But back onto the subject. Did anything odd happen at the Rock today, Harry?"

"No," I lied. "Well, I nearly got my eyeballs burnt out, but accidents like that happen a lot."

"So Turpin and Flint didn't do anything strange?"

I frowned. Lisa might have been acting suspiciously, but she was still my partner, and Daphne was someone who I had been repeatedly warned to stay away from. Besides, it was an Auror investigation, and Daphne had no business poking around in it.

"Nothing happened," I repeated.

Daphne arched an eyebrows delicately, but didn't press the subject. "You attended my sister's funeral with Lady Malfoy's sister."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway, wondering when the food was going to come. Hopefully, it would distract Daphne from the conversation.

"Are you two very close?"

I groaned. "Daphne, I told you before, I'm her grandson's godfather. Nothing else."

Daphne's lips twitched. "That wasn't what I was referring to, but as an Auror, surely you should know that when someone is so eager to deny something, he is usually guilty of it."

"I'm not," I protested. "What were you going to say?"

"Andromeda doesn't like me."

"That is an understatement," I mumbled under my breath. "Do you why she doesn't?"

I was honestly curious why Lucius and Andromeda disliked Daphne so much, but since neither of them was eager to tell me why, then that just left Daphne as a source of information. Of course, I couldn't take anything she said at face value, but it could still provide me with a hint of what was going on.

"Well," Daphne said slowly, "I think that she's just upset on Lady Malfoy's behalf. You may know that originally I was supposed to be Draco's bride, but there were some…clashes between us, so Lady Malfoy decided that Astoria was more suited to Draco's unique temperament."

For some reason, Daphne sounded a little bitter about the whole thing. The thought struck me that she might have wanted to marry the ponce, and that disturbed me more than I would have liked. And the clashes…weren't couples supposed to clash? Ginny and I had our fair share of fights.

"What clashes?"

But whatever Daphne said next, I didn't hear, because at that moment, a red-hot pain exploded on the side of my cheek. I fell out of my seat, landing in an undignified heap on the floor. As I pushed myself up, another punch came at me, but I managed to intercept it so that the brunt of the force was not directed toward my jaw.

Then I saw who it was.

"R-Ron?"

Ron's face was redder than his hair as he swung his first at me again. I dodged it, just barely. The wine bottle wasn't so lucky; it toppled over, spilling its contents all over the table and floor.

"Ron, what are you doing here?"

"Ginny told me to see what you were at this late at night." Ron aimed another punch at me. "And I think that I know why now."

He shot a dirty look at Daphne, who only smiled back at him, raising her wineglass in a mock toast.

"Ron," I said, trying to pacify my friend, "we were just having dinner."

"That's not what you told Ginny, was it?" Ron's face was becoming as red as his hair and he was breathing heavily. I backed up a few steps to avoid his kick. Luckily, Ron couldn't do magic here in front of the Muggles—or more likely, Hermione had confiscated his wand before she let him follow me—so my internal organs were still safely inside of me.

"It's not what it looks like!" I defended. People were beginning to stare and whisper. I thought that a couple of the women were glaring at me. "I wasn't doing anything."

From where she was sitting and enjoying the show, Daphne tsked. "You shouldn't say that, Harry. It just makes you sound guiltier."

"Shut up!" Ron and I roared at the same time. Daphne only rolled her eyes.

Unfortunately for me, Ron, seeing that I was distracted, he punched me again. At least I had a chair to fall onto this time. Gasping, I was glad to see that a few men dressed in police uniforms had entered the restaurant and were surrounding Ron.

"Sir, please come with us."

"Lemme go! I'm going teach him a lesson!"

"Sir, if you continue like this—"

Ron turned on the policemen, who, taken by surprise, didn't manage to dodge the punch. The other policemen, seeing that, quickly subdued Ron with sheer numbers, though he continued to shout and flail as the Muggle policemen dragged him out of the restaurant.

I winced and rubbed my bruised jaw. Then I saw that everyone was staring at Daphne, but especially at me.

"I take it that you're not going to finish dinner with me?" Daphne asked. She didn't look at all disturbed by the scene.

I bit down on a harsh retort. "I think we'd better go."

"Naturally." Daphne slapped down a few bills onto the table and stood up. Seeing my expression, she added, "Don't worry. She won't divorce you. It's rather difficult, splitting one and a half children."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but somehow, I didn't think that either would work. Turning on my heel, I stomped out of the restaurant.

"Harry, wait!" I could hear Daphne calling after me. She must have been faster than I thought, because she caught my sleeve and refused to let go. Reluctantly, I stopped.

"I didn't know that Weasley was going to come and make a mess of things," Daphne said. "I apologize for that."

"It's not your fault," I muttered. For once, Daphne was not looking at with the cynical, amused air I had come to associate her with. In fact, the way she was looking at me reminded me of the miniature of angelic Astoria Malfoy I had seen in Lucius' study. I felt my anger soften. "Really. It's not your fault. Ron just jumps to conclusions sometimes. Ginny will understand."

Daphne relaxed. "I hope so. Daddy would have a fit if I had to bring you over at this hour." She glanced around, but we were alone on the street. "I suppose this is good-bye then."

"Good," I said, flushing when I realized what I just said. Luckily, Daphne only laughed and waved as she Apparated away with a _pop_.

I found myself staring at the spot she had been just a moment before. There was glimmer of reflected light on the empty street. Strange—it looked like a needle, one of the ones Daphne had been wearing. She must have dropped it.

I hesitated, then bent down a picked it up.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**GreenGrizzly: **Don't worry, Daphne didn't kill the Malfoys. I did initially plan for her to be the murderer, but like you said, there are certain problems with having Daphne as the real killer. On the other hand, most of the characters in this story have been introduced by now, including the real killer. Good luck guessing!

**DarthSadist: **To each his own.

**riffin121294: **I mentioned a little of why Andromeda would dislike Daphne here, but that's not the whole story parts. The next chapter will shed more light on real reasons for Andromeda's attitude toward Daphne. And speaking of the next chapter…

Up next: Ginny refuses to see Harry, but that's the least of his problems. Forced to continue on the investigation with a partner he cannot trust and to talk to people he would fervently like to ignore, Harry finds himself with many plausible suspects but no true leads—except a strange letter that might or might not have come directly from the murderer.


End file.
